to put an end to my questioning. Maybe I could let go of my suspicious nature for the rest of the evening. After all, I’d have day after day at work to scrutinize him.
“And you’re not at all dysfunctional?” He cocked his head, reminding me of the cute Pit-bull puppy I’d interviewed earlier.
“Fine! You win!” I stabbed at my salad, no longer able to ignore the painful grumbles. “If I had a middle name, it would be dysfunctional.”
Several drinks later, we were chatting away like old friends, Jazmine and his gruesome eating habits forgotten.
For the first time since I could remember, I shared the entire coma incident story. Zane was an adept listener, nodding at the right times and commenting when appropriate. For the most part, he let me talk. I’d forgotten how good it felt to open up with no agenda. Talking about my gift was a huge relief.
“You’re a pretty darn good listener, Zane Marshall.” I could tell the glasses of wine had done their magic, lubricating my libido. As a very sporadic drinker, it didn’t take much.
“Why thank you, lovely lady. By the way, your skin tone is fabulous. May I ask your background?”
Usually people ho-hummed around, afraid to ask questions about my ethnicity. I’d always wondered what the big deal was. My caramel coloring was courtesy of my Caucasian mother and my real dad’s half African half Native American heritage. Bob, my illustrious stepfather, was as white as white can be.
“I’m a smorgasbord.” I giggled, realizing my mistake too late.
“Um, I love a good smorgasbord,” he all but groaned, his eyes growing smoky. I want her.
I felt a jolt of primal hunger so intense I was afraid I might climb across the table and into his lap. Astonished that those three simple words had managed to escape from behind his mental barrier, I tried to listen for more. The wall had returned, but his eyes smoldered with anticipation.
All I had to do was reach for him.
My breathing grew ragged as he watched my internal struggle.
“I need to get home,” I managed to stutter. “Work,” I apologized, as if he didn’t know my schedule. Defying my still-pounding heart was as impossible as ignoring a stampede of wild horses. I wondered if he could sense my desire and uncertainty.
“As you wish,” he said, his voice husky.
I jumped up before I could change my mind. “I need to use the ladies room.”
Touching up my makeup, I tried to find my usual composure. It wasn’t easy. Closing my eyes, I breathed in through my nose, starting my proverbial counting routine.
As soon as my mind relaxed, a flood of words rushed in.
He’s in there. I saw Jazmine leave. She looked pretty pissed.
What’s new? She’s a bitch.
Laughter.
Let’s deliver our message to Zane and have a little fun with his female.
She’s human.
Your point?
How many were there? I wasn’t sure, but at least three men were waiting outside the bar, and their intentions for us were far from honorable.
Zane was finishing his beer when I rejoined him. He sensed my mood change.
“What happened?” He slammed his glass down. “Did she come back?”
“No, but someone wants to hurt you. There’s a group of men outside waiting for us. Don’t ask me how I know, because until today, I could only read animals, but somehow I can now hear specific people. They mentioned Jazmine.”
“Great. I didn’t want to drag you into my personal problems.”
“I take it this is part of the dysfunctional stuff,” I snapped, feeling let down. Though a part of me wanted to believe he was protecting me.
“You stay in here. I’ll handle this.”
“Oh no! You’re not leaving me behind. What if something happens to you?” Just then it occurred to me that there were people trained to deal with stalking psychopaths. “Why don’t we call the police?”
“Not a good idea.” Zane was on his feet. His features had morphed from relaxed to intense. He reminded me of a vicious dog. “Is there any way you can sense where they’re positioned?” He sniffed the air.
“I’m not sure. I can try.” I closed my eyes and attempted to erase the terrifying images I’d already conjured in my mind. The voices returned. I could visualize the men. There were three — one by the Corvette; two in the woods behind the restaurant, around thirty feet from our vehicles. They were contemplating entering the bar.
“They’re tired of waiting,” I warned. “Three males, all near our cars. Two out of sight, hiding in the brush.”